“You must really feel awful,” she looks at the clock. It's only 6:30.
I shower, leaning against the wall for support. Getting into my pajamas leaves me exhausted. My whole body aches. I glance at my computer. I’ve been emailing Jacob every night before bed. Usually, it’s just a quick goodnight. I don’t even have the energy for that.
About one o’clock I wake up flushed and barely make it to the bathroom before I throw up. As I crawl back into bed, I pray this is a short bug. I can’t get behind in school. I lie back down, exhausted.
“Jess,” Nichole is calling for me.
I look at the clock, seven-thirty a.m. If I’m going to make it to class, I have to get up now. I sit up, and my head pounds.
“Jess,” she calls again.
I get up and walk towards the door. It takes all my strength. I'm not going anywhere today. I lean against the door frame. “I’m not going to class today. I feel terrible.”
“It’s not that.” She walks into my room. She’s holding my cell. I must have left it in the living room last night. “You have a phone call.”
Something about her face makes me dread taking the phone from her. I wonder if it’s Michael. I told my roommates that I can’t talk to him.
“Hello.”
It’s a man’s voice. Not Michael, but one I immediately recognize.
"Dad?"
Dad never calls me. Usually when Mom calls, she puts him on the phone and we talk for a minute, but he’s never initiated a phone call.
“Jessica, baby.” The tone of his voice is scary—quiet, tender, deadly serious. He hasn't called me baby since I was little. “We had a visit from the Army this morning.”
I clutch the phone tighter. I already know what he’s going to tell me.
It's never good news if they show up in person.
“Matthew is gone. He was killed yesterday when a rocket-propelled grenade hit his Humvee.” Dad’s voice wavers.
I breathe in once. Matthew, not...my mind can’t finish that sentence.
I clutch the phone, and lean against the wall for support. I can’t speak, I can’t cry. Nichole catches the look on my face and puts her hand on my shoulder.
“Jess, are you there?” Dad asks.
“I’m still here,” I whisper.
“There’s more.”
“More,” I squeak. I can’t wrap my head around what he just told me. How can there be more?
“Gage was with him. He was killed too.”
twenty-seven
Just a Dream
I’m back in my bed. My body is on fire. Everything hurts. I struggle to push the covers off. It all must have been a dream, some horrible fever-induced dream.
I’m afraid to open my eyes. What if it wasn’t a dream? My heart feels hollow. I force myself to look around. My room is gray. It must be daylight, but the blinds are closed. Someone's hand is covering mine. I struggle to focus on his face.
“Michael?”
He takes my hand. His voice cracks. “Jess, are you okay?”
